


something written in the headlights

by jessicamiriamdrew



Category: Constantine (Comic), Constantine (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Post-Canon, it isn't one sided but this isn't a relationship fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-17 20:33:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16981341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessicamiriamdrew/pseuds/jessicamiriamdrew
Summary: He’s spent years trying to find that better person everyone thinks is buried inside of him. Chas thinks it most of all, looks at him sometimes like he thinks he could reach forward and pluck a gem of goodness from John’s body.John had wanted to let Chas try, to accept the things Chas was offering.





	something written in the headlights

**Author's Note:**

> melding of the tv show / inspired by some of the dc comics verse, specifically the bit about a curse, although i played around with the particulars of it.
> 
> to be clear, no one is dead, but there is the implication of death/philosophizing about dying. it's not intended to be a portrayal of suicidal emotions but i would urge caution if you're in a bad way, because this isn't a particularly happy piece of writing.

Chas doesn’t show, though it’s been hours since John had rubbed his face, made some sad comment he doesn’t want to remember, and walked out.

John shouldn’t always expect him to.

It’s just that Chas does. Chas has always shown, especially when John’s in need.

Normally.

John runs: Chas comes to stop him or join him. They continue.

Maybe John wants something grand and dramatic to prove him wrong or shut down the demons that are so persistent in his head. These days, it hurts to be around Chas, to want him in that way he’s never thought of anyone else before, and certainly won’t again.

He might actually miss this flight if he stands here chain smoking his way through a pack of cigarettes. He doesn't want to be on this plane anyway, would rather have half an inch between them instead of an entire fucking ocean.

But he can’t stay anymore, can’t risk it if Chas isn’t his, when John never said a word, or the right ones, or touched Chas the way he should’ve.

London will kill him. It’s not a question of what will happen in the way that people joke about in macabre moments. The curse will find a way to make sure he’s dead: drop a piano on him for one last note of revenge, or maybe a cab will plow him down, finally here to destroy instead of save him.

John knows Chas’ face will be the last thing he pictures when he dies, anyway. A better man would say it’d be Astra, that his first thought when dying will be finding her in hell.

He’s spent years trying to find that better person everyone thinks is buried inside of him. Chas thinks it most of all, looks at him sometimes like he thinks he could reach forward and pluck a gem of goodness from John’s body.

John had wanted to let Chas try, to accept the things Chas was offering.

Eight hours of air time, maybe less if they hit a good pocket of wind. 

There were people who thought John could stop an apocalypse. He wanted to, once: he’s not exactly craving the onset of eternal damnation.

Lots of things seemed possible with Chas by his side.  
They both felt it some days, when they saved lives and went home thrumming with knowledge there would be a future.

But those times were rare, and he’s worn out from all these battles that he can’t win, and people he can’t bear to lose.

See, John never told Chas about the curse. He made up some story about bad blood in London so that Chas would never pressure him to go there. Then they moved to the states and it didn’t matter anymore.

Chas would probably be here if he knew. He would’ve stopped John from leaving at all. Calling it a crazy deathwish, and John’s inability to cope.

That’s what John hopes, at least. The chasm of things he thought he knew about himself and Chas expands until what was closeness feels like a sepia hued daydream. 

It’s not masochism, or suicidality. It’s chickens coming home to roost, the iniquity of the previous generations visited upon the present, the long accumulation of mistakes into an unerasable list.

Each taxi cab that drives by makes his heart skip even though they’re all the wrong color. Not that sickly yellow of Chas’ cab. No one is slamming on the brakes and parking in the no parking zone, rushing out to stop John from his latest life or death gaffe. 

John supposes when you only get one of them, death should be a private affair. Far away from those you love, even if they never could exactly figure out how to love you the same, the way you craved.

He doesn’t blame Chas for that. John never quite tried to explain it; he’d stacked the deck against them both.

The intercom crackles with boarding announcements but John didn’t bring any bags. He’ll breeze through security with psychic paper and be boarded before the doors shut.

John’ll just watch the sunset from the departures layer, until it drops low. If there’s no cab--when there’s no Chas--he’ll put out his cigarette, and truly disappear.

**Author's Note:**

> i think a lot about the hedgehog's dilemma and john/chas, and this is a bit of the results of that. john and chas in canon clearly mean a lot to each other--which means they are exquisitely able to hurt each other. 
> 
> title is from time spent in los angeles by dawes.
> 
> you can find me on tumblr under the same username, for as long as tumblr lasts!


End file.
